Hearts in Zenith (Four Husbands and a Lover)

15. Strange Bedfellows

After a bit of wiggling, I nestled myself in Kozima's embrace. The position didn't hurt any of my scrapes and bruises, so I could enjoy a sweeter ache brought upon by his closeness. He lifted himself on one elbow behind my back, his left shoulder hovering over mine, his neck craned till his lips grazed my cheek. His hand avoided the sore spots with innate gentleness. Something poked the small of my back.

"It's far too dangerous a plan, Ismar," he said. "The scorpia assassin will murder you."

My ear rested on his forearm. Young blood coursed through his veins, speeding up to a dizzying pace. I wanted to be carried away by its currents to a bliss of coupling. A sigh lifted my chest.

"You're so easily frightened, sweetheart, yet you make me tremble like no monster can."

Half-words, half-kisses descended to my lips from on high.

"Tremble, and moan, and cry," he whispered. "You do that to me too."

Like the travelers lost in the night, his fingers searched their way to the warm refuge inside me, closing in on the place aptly named Indara's Joy. He circled it tentatively.

"Liar," I teased, closing my eyes to better follow his wonderful progress. "I don't cry."

"Then tears are only mine. They come when I think how easy it would have been for you to return to the fold. Safety and peace will be in it for you. Sanity--for me."

I shook my head. "Not again and not now, Kozima. Not now..."

His fingers circled fruitfully, his lips slipped down, providing me with more reasons to push my hips against his, inviting him inside. Our bodies were accustomed to finding the best fit on their own by then.

"Come here, sweetheart."

He obeyed.

On instinct, I avoided ripping the stitches. It was much easier than when I was swimming. Sharim was good with her needle, and the medical gum did its magic, but mainly it was Kozima. He was gentler than the first leaves in spring, flexible like a young branch and foresaw my movements with a preternatural aptness.

"You return to me, because it's fraught with danger." His chest jiggled with laughter, intermingling with tremors, rocking, and the other elating movements. "That's what excites you, not I."

I cried out in protest.

"But the battles and monsters, that's even more thrilling for you."

Love scattered my thoughts, let alone my words. Men and fighting both made me feel equally alive. Instinctively, I knew to let the body do the talking. He didn't lie—he cried after he loved. I thought it was happy tears, at least right after I drew every drop of sweet nectar he had to offer.

A bit later, as his mouth hopelessly searched for comfort at my breast and I stroked his head, maybe he cried out of fear of parting.

Once all his tears were exhausted, Kozima breathed freer. "I'll ask Anastasia to meet us in the infirmary tomorrow night. But you know that it's blasphemy."

"Is not," I argued, kissing him good morning and wishing courage upon him. "Anastasia is a priestess, and she'll tell you the same thing."

***

"What you want is blasphemy!" Anastasia said after listening to my proposition next evening.

Her round bottom barely fit on the narrow bench in the infirmary. Lucky her, always carrying a cushion along. And a crown of golden curls. She was slipping into the full glory of mature womanhood faster than I acquired scars!